Giving back has never been something I scheduled separately from my life; it has been woven into my work, my parenting, and my identity as an educator. For more than fifteen years, I have served students, families, and colleagues in communities where resources are often limited but potential is abundant. My commitment to service is not rooted in recognition, but in responsibility, an understanding that access, advocacy, and opportunity must be actively created. Currently, I give back through my work in education and leadership. As a classroom teacher and as a Positive Behavioral Interventions & Supports (PBIS) data analyst, team leader, and coordinator, I support students beyond academics. I collaborate with teachers to identify behavioral and instructional gaps, help schools use data responsibly, and advocate for interventions that are preventative rather than punitive. Much of this work happens quietly, after school meetings, family conversations, mentoring new teachers, and problem-solving alongside colleagues who are overwhelmed and under-supported. I view this as service because it directly impacts school culture and student success. Mentorship is another way I give back. I intentionally support early-career teachers, particularly educators of color, by offering guidance, encouragement, and practical strategies for navigating the profession. Teaching can be isolating, and I believe retention begins with support. I also work closely with families, helping them understand school systems and advocate for their children. As a single mother myself, I know how intimidating schools can feel, and I strive to be a bridge rather than a barrier. Looking ahead, my goal is to expand my impact through advanced education and leadership. I plan to continue pursuing roles that influence instructional practice, school policy, and professional learning. Through doctoral study, I aim to contribute research that centers on equity, ethical decision-making, and sustainable school improvement. I want to help shift conversations away from deficit-based thinking and toward solutions that honor students’ lived experiences. In the future, I plan to formalize mentorship opportunities for educators and aspiring leaders, particularly women and individuals from underrepresented backgrounds. I also hope to contribute to district-level initiatives that focus on data-informed, but not data-driven, decision-making, ensuring that numbers never outweigh humanity. My vision of impact is practical and local: stronger schools, supported teachers, informed families, and students who feel seen and valued. Receiving this scholarship would allow me to continue this work without the constant strain of financial pressure. As a single parent balancing work, school, and family, financial support would provide stability and focus, both of which directly affect my ability to serve others. This scholarship would not only support my education; it would amplify the work I am already doing and the work I am committed to continuing. Giving back, to me, means leaving systems better than I found them. Through continued education, leadership, and service, I intend to do exactly that, consistently, intentionally, and with purpose.

The courage to return to school did not come from a single moment of inspiration; it came from years of lived experience that slowly clarified what I was being called to do next. After more than fifteen years in education, I realized that staying where I was comfortable was no longer enough. I had gained experience, insight, and leadership skills, but I also saw the limitations of my influence without advanced training. Going back to school required courage because it meant choosing growth over ease, and purpose over fear. As a Black woman and single mother, courage has always been a necessity, not a choice. Balancing full-time work, parenting, and financial responsibility has taught me how to persevere even when resources are limited and expectations are high. Returning to school meant acknowledging that I would be stretched emotionally, mentally, and financially. However, it also meant modeling resilience for my children and demonstrating that education is not bound by age or circumstance. I wanted them to see that courage is not the absence of fear, but the decision to move forward despite it. Professionally, my courage was fueled by my responsibilities. Throughout my career, I have served not only as a classroom teacher but also in leadership roles as a Positive Behavioral Interventions & Supports (PBIS) data analyst, team leader, and coordinator. In these roles, I witnessed firsthand how leadership decisions shape student outcomes, teacher morale, and school culture. I saw how data could be used thoughtfully or misused and how equity often depends on who is seated at the decision-making table. I knew that if I wanted to advocate effectively for students and educators, I needed deeper preparation and a stronger voice. Community service has always been a central part of my work. I mentor new teachers, collaborate with families, and support initiatives aimed at closing opportunity gaps. Over time, I recognized that my impact could be expanded through advanced study, research, and leadership development. Returning to school was an act of courage because it meant committing to long-term service, not just immediate results. It meant investing in the skills necessary to create sustainable change rather than temporary solutions. Financial reality also played a role. Choosing to pursue higher education as a single parent requires careful planning and sacrifice. There were moments of doubt but the moments were outweighed by the belief that this investment would strengthen my ability to serve others. Courage, for me, meant trusting that temporary strain would lead to lasting impact. Ultimately, what gave me the courage to return to school was purpose. I am driven by a desire to lead ethically, advocate effectively, and contribute meaningfully to my community. This scholarship would not only ease a financial burden; it would affirm that my commitment to education, leadership, and service is worthy of support. With continued education, I will remain focused on creating opportunities, mentoring others, and ensuring that schools serve all students with fairness, dignity, and care.

Returning to higher education at this stage of my life is not the result of convenience or ideal timing; it is the result of clarity. After more than fifteen years in education, I now understand not only the challenges students face, but the systems that sustain them and the responsibility I have to help improve those systems. As a Black woman, single mother, and long-serving educator, my journey has been shaped by resilience, service, and an unwavering belief that education remains the most powerful tool for change. I entered the field of education with a desire to support students who often feel unseen or underestimated. Over the years, my classroom experience expanded into leadership roles, including serving as a Positive Behavioral Interventions & Supports (PBIS) data analyst, team leader, and coordinator. These roles allowed me to see how thoughtful leadership, grounded in both data and compassion, can shift school culture and student outcomes. I have worked closely with teachers, families, and administrators to identify gaps, implement supports, and ensure that decisions reflect the real needs of students rather than assumptions. My professional growth has occurred alongside personal responsibility. As a single mother, I have balanced parenting, full-time work, and graduate study while navigating financial strain and limited resources. Pursuing a doctoral degree has required sacrifice, persistence, and careful planning. Yet it has also reinforced my commitment to modeling perseverance for my children and demonstrating that education is not limited by age, circumstance, or hardship. This degree represents not just personal achievement, but generational progress. These experiences have shaped my values and career aspirations. I am committed to equity-driven leadership, ethical decision-making, and service-centered education. My goal is to continue advancing into roles where I can influence instructional practice, support educators, and contribute to research and policy that prioritize student well-being and long-term success. I aim to mentor future educators and leaders, particularly those from underrepresented backgrounds, and to advocate for systems that balance accountability with humanity. Community service is not separate from my work; it is embedded within it. I serve by mentoring new teachers, supporting families, and leading initiatives that strengthen school communities. Through my continued education, I plan to deepen my impact by producing research and professional learning that supports sustainable, inclusive reform. My commitment is not temporary or situational; it is lifelong. This scholarship would be a transformation. It would ease a significant financial burden and allow me to remain focused on my academic goals while continuing to serve my school community and family. More importantly, it represents an investment in someone who has already demonstrated commitment, leadership, and follow-through. I do not view this opportunity as assistance alone, but as a partnership, one that will enable me to continue giving back, expanding access, and leading with purpose.

Scholarship Essay: The Day I Found My Why The bell had just rung, and most students had scattered out of my classroom, buzzing with post-quiz energy. But one student stayed behind, shoulders slumped, fiddling with the frayed strap of his backpack. “Ms. B,” he said quietly, “I didn’t think I could do it. But I passed.” His name was Darion, a seventh grader who had struggled all year in math, and in life. That moment, when he believed in himself for the first time, reminded me exactly why I became a teacher in the first place. My journey into education began in the fourth grade, during a math lesson on long division. I remember feeling completely confused, but I was too afraid to raise my hand. I didn’t want to look stupid. Just when I thought I’d fall further behind, a classmate named George raised his hand and offered to share an easier way to solve the problem with the class. I looked up, relieved, maybe this would help. But our teacher, Mrs. Tuft, shut him down without hesitation. “No,” she said firmly, “we’re doing it my way.” The opportunity to learn from a peer, and maybe feel less alone in my confusion, disappeared in an instant. I left that classroom with a silent promise: If I ever become a teacher, I will never silence a student’s voice. I will make space for different ways of thinking and give students the chance to teach and lead, especially those who struggle to find confidence in the subject. That promise came full circle years later when I met Darion. Darion had entered my classroom with more behavioral referrals than completed assignments. Many adults had already decided who he was and what he could not do. But I saw something else, a spark that had been dimmed, not extinguished. I started by letting him sit closer to me, where he felt safe. I allowed him to lead small groups when he mastered a topic. I even incorporated his love for basketball into our lessons, using NBA stats to teach decimals and fractions. Slowly, his head started to rise. His pencil began to move. The day he scored a B-minus on his math quiz, he handed it to me with a proud smirk, followed by a downward glance, like he still didn’t fully believe he was capable. I looked him in the eyes and said, “You did that. Nobody gave it to you.” What followed wasn’t just academic growth. He stopped skipping class. He started mentoring others. He no longer feared being wrong, he embraced being a leader. He even volunteered to work problems on the board, just like I wish I could’ve done back in fourth grade. That’s the kind of environment I’ve dedicated my life to creating, one where no student feels silenced or invisible. Where students feel safe enough to say, “I don’t get it,” and strong enough to say, “Let me show you how I did it.” I believe in allowing students to teach, collaborate, and build each other’s confidence. That’s how learning becomes empowering. That’s how classrooms become communities. If awarded this scholarship, I will continue to pour into students like Darion, and like the fourth-grade version of myself who just needed one teacher to say, “Let’s try it your way.” My mission is to be that teacher every single day.

A Life Built on Purpose, Persistence, and People The bell had already rung, but one student lingered behind. She nervously asked if I could help her understand the math problem that had frustrated her all week. Tired from the day, I sat beside her anyway, because I knew what it felt like to need someone to believe in you, even when you’re too afraid to ask. That moment reminded me exactly why I do this. My path to higher education has never been smooth, but it's been full of meaning. I’m a single Black mother, raising two incredible children while teaching math for the past 15 years. Every decision I’ve made has been rooted in my desire to show them what strength, dedication, and purpose look like. I chose education because it saved me, and now I’m working toward my doctorate so I can help shape a system that does the same for others. Teaching has never been just a job for me. It’s a mission. I’ve seen firsthand how students from underserved backgrounds often struggle, not because they lack ability, but because they lack support. That’s where I step in. I teach math, yes, but more than that, I teach confidence, problem-solving, and the belief that success is possible. My values..equity, perseverance, and service, were shaped by this work and by my own journey of overcoming obstacles. Now, I’m reaching for more. Pursuing my doctorate is a big step, but a necessary one. I want to be in rooms where decisions are made, where policies are written, and where educators are trained. I want to advocate for students who are often overlooked and support teachers who are working hard to make a difference. My dream is to create mentorship programs for new educators and single parents like myself, people who need encouragement and a road map for what’s possible. Community has always been at the heart of what I do. I mentor new teachers, volunteer in local youth programs, and use every opportunity I can to pour back into the people who poured into me. But I know I can’t do it all alone. This scholarship would help lighten the financial burden of tuition and give me the space to keep pushing forward. It would be a vote of confidence, not just in me, but in the future I’m trying to build for my children and my students. I’ve worked hard to get to this point. And I’m not finished. This scholarship will help me cross the next milestone, but more importantly, it will help me continue walking a path that opens doors for others. I don’t just want to succeed. I want to lead, to serve, and to leave a legacy that reminds others they can, too.

If I close my eyes and imagine the life I’ve always dreamed of, I see a defining moment. I’m sitting in the front row of my youngest child’s college graduation, eyes filled with tears, heart full of pride. At that same ceremony, I’m also being honored, having recently earned my doctorate. That moment reflects everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve: raising two children as a single mother, putting them through school, and reaching new heights in my own education. I’ve been a middle school math teacher for 15 years. My classroom has always been more than a place to solve equations, it’s a space where students learn to believe in themselves. Many of my students come from communities like mine, where opportunities can feel out of reach and expectations are sometimes low. I’ve made it my mission to change that perspective. I want every student to see that they are capable, that their voice matters, and that their future is not defined by their current circumstances. Outside the classroom, my journey has been filled with obstacles. As a single Black mother, I’ve had to navigate the demands of parenting, working full time, and continuing my education. There were times when I wasn’t sure how I would make ends meet..how I’d afford school supplies for my kids, or cover tuition, or find time for coursework after grading papers and cooking dinner. But through it all, I’ve stayed focused on my goal: to become a doctor of education, not just for myself, but as a way to inspire and uplift others. In my dream life, I am more than a teacher, I’m a mentor, a leader, and an advocate. I envision myself using my doctorate to influence education policy and provide professional development that centers equity and empowerment. I want to support new teachers, especially those who share similar backgrounds and face similar challenges. I want to create scholarship opportunities for single mothers pursuing higher education, and build community programs that provide academic support and mentorship for students who need it most. I also dream of financial stability, not wealth, but freedom. The freedom to support my children without worry. The freedom to give back, to donate, to start something that will outlive me. That kind of stability means I can continue to grow without sacrificing my family’s well-being. It means I can reach back as I climb, helping others who are walking the path I’ve traveled. This scholarship would be more than just financial support. It would be a powerful affirmation that my dreams are valid, that someone sees the value in what I’m building, not just for myself, but for my children, my students, and my community. It would allow me to keep pushing forward with a little less weight on my shoulders and a lot more hope in my heart. I’m not just working to live the life of my dreams, I’m building a legacy. One that proves success is possible, no matter where you start.